


The Fifth Son

by ArielAquarial



Series: The Angel of Thursday [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Wings, Arranged Marriage, Bottom Castiel (Supernatural), First Time, Fluff, Good Parent John Winchester, Light Angst, M/M, Prince Castiel (Supernatural), Prince Dean Winchester, Top Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-12 06:26:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28755855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArielAquarial/pseuds/ArielAquarial
Summary: King Zachariah is tired of humans and wants to go to war, but there's really no reason to, and he can't declare war without a reason or every nation will turn on him. So, he decides he'll kill two birds with one stone: he'll offer his most unattractive son to marry Dean, the prince of the human kingdom. Dean will refuse, he can call it an insult to his family, and the angel soldiers will quickly overrun the weaker humans. The problem? Castiel may not have very good angel features, but by human standards he's gorgeous.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: The Angel of Thursday [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2147520
Comments: 36
Kudos: 337





	The Fifth Son

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Umbreon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Umbreon/gifts).



> This is a prompt from Umbrie that I got from the Profound Bond Discord!
> 
> Thanks to my #1 beta: Rocksaltandhoney, who lets me message her at all hours of the day with questions and random shouting.  
> And another thanks to WaywardAngel79 and CallenoftheNorth who also helped beta this monster!

Zachariah’s distaste of King John and the whole of the human species was notorious within the palace walls. He had been known to say that humans were nothing but vermin scurrying about the earth, sullying everything they touched. According to King Zachariah, the only good trait that humans possessed was the ability to multiply like the rats he often compared them to, which gave them the advantage of numbers. Zachariah would preach to anyone who would listen that angels were stronger and faster than humans on the battlefield, that their senses were better and their minds quicker, but the truth was that he needed them — there just weren’t enough angels to continue battling the demons alone. This only made his anger towards humans grow; in fact, even a mention of King John’s name would send Zachariah’s feathers quivering with anger.

Thankfully, the staff was discrete, and the king’s hate towards humans remained within the palace walls. King John stayed blissfully ignorant of the angel king’s extreme dislike towards his species, and the two kingdoms continued to send flowery missives and well-written updates back and forth. Trade between the two had never been better, and the angelic public viewed their neighboring kingdom favorably, to the frustration of their king. They even had a small population of humans living among them.

The two kingdoms had been allies since the reign of King Chuck, so while Zachariah would rather chop off his own wings than play nice with them, he was forced to keep up a diplomatic front, all the while hoping that Winchester would slip up and he would finally have an excuse to declare war and put them in their place. He didn’t need them, he rationalized. Zachariah could get help from the other angelic kingdoms, and while they were farther away and had demon problems of their own to deal with, he knew they would still come if he called for their aid.

Unfortunately for him, his council didn’t agree. While Zachariah sat on his throne and disparaged his closest human allies, the Kingdom of Winchester had sent envoys and ambassadors to the other kingdoms, assimilating themselves into their courts and gaining favor. While Zachariah was the closest neighbor, he was far from their only ally, and if Zachariah even hinted at war, the other kingdoms would turn on him before he could blink.

Zachariah hated that they were allies, and had been since the reign of his father. He loathed the fact that their military often called for human aid in the battles they waged against demons. They came willingly, always eager to lend a hand to rid the earth of the abominations. Castiel, as a military man and strategist for the commanding general, had fought side by side with humans since he was old enough to wield his angel blade, and could testify to the strength and resilience they possessed. His father, of course, wouldn’t hear it, especially from him. He was the youngest son, barely on his father’s radar.

Things only got worse when King John proposed a stronger alliance. His first son, Crown Prince Dean, had just come of age, and since Crown Prince Michael was nearing his thirtieth year still unattached, it made sense to unite their kingdoms in marriage. King Zachariah’s angry ranting could be heard throughout the castle, and the next morning, Michael was engaged to a princess from the nearest angelic kingdom and an apologetic reply was sent to their ally. His other brothers were married off in quick succession before King John could even think to pen another missive.

Stationed on the front lines, Castiel only heard about the mess at the palace from Balthazar, his only brother that cared enough to send the occasional letter. As the youngest son and a thorn in his father's side, Castiel didn’t even make it past his sixteenth birthday before King Zachariah shipped him off to the war front. According to Zachariah, he was being sent away to build character, but he knew it was because he looked too much like the humans the king despised and he had no place for that in his court. It was meant to humble him and put him in his place, but once away from his father, Castiel flourished. Finally given the attention he needed to thrive, he worked his way up the ranks, never using his royal status to earn a promotion. By the time he was twenty-eight, he was one of their most successful commanders and a decorated war hero. Because of his outstanding record, his father left him alone. He was virtually untouchable, and he used that to his full advantage.

To his garrison, he wasn’t fifth in line for the throne, he was their commander. He broke bread with them, mourned with them, and celebrated their victories. He wasn’t a prince, he was a fair and just leader, his strong moral compass driving him to do what others couldn’t. 

For instance, when he heard of a small human village under siege from a swarm of demons, he saw the importance of intervening before it was too late. Unfortunately, King John's hands were tied and could spare no men to save them. His commander refused to help without a formal request from King John, so it was Castiel alone that snuck out in the middle of the night to help. With only his two blades and the cover of darkness, he flew to the village, and in the predawn light he slaughtered the monsters, using his dark wings to cloak himself in the shadows and picking the demons off one by one. He left before the village could offer him thanks, not desiring even the smallest bit of attention for doing his duty as a prince and commander.

He earned himself the nickname _The Angel of Thursday_ for his heroic deed on that day, and to his extreme embarrassment, his stunt earned him a substantial reputation. Humans wrote _ballads_ for him, about his uniquely dark wings and ability to wield two blades. He became so well known on the battlefield that just the sight of his charcoal wings would give humans the courage they needed to continue in battle. The fact that he looked more like a human than an angel worked to his advantage, and he was invited to their campfires to break bread, where he learned far more about their species from their own mouths than he ever did in the palace.

He couldn’t understand his father’s hate for them. Every single man and woman he met had treated him with nothing but respect, offering him sustenance and shelter, and making him feel more at home with them than he ever did at home.

In the back of his mind, he knew that one day he would be called back to the palace to marry whoever his father chose for him, effectively ending his military career. As the youngest, he wasn’t held to the same rigid standards as his older siblings, but he knew he would still be expected to marry well. Perhaps the daughter of a high-ranking military officer, or maybe the third son of one of his father’s councilmen. Castiel had always assumed he would have some choice in the matter. He was wrong.

When Castiel was approached and told his marriage was in talks, he accepted it without comment and flew to the palace within the hour, to the deep displeasure of his commander. When he landed in the courtyard, still in his uniform and exhausted from the flight, he was rushed to his rooms by the servants, eager to get him out of his armor before his audience with the king. Instead of his plate and chainmail, he was stuffed into a fine silk shirt, with a waistcoat and matching breeches. His comfortable leather shoes were replaced by long, gartered socks and low heeled shoes. By the time a servant fit him with a matching embroidered coat, he was ready to jump out the window and fly back into battle. _Anything_ was better than being dressed like a peacock and paraded in front of his father. Clothes like this had no place in his life anymore, and he hated that this was to be his future. Surely his future spouse, whoever they may be, would expect it of him.

He was already sweating by the time he made it to the throne room, but as the thick doors were opened and he stepped inside, he held his head high and channeled every lesson on conduct he ever had as a child.

“You should be grateful, son,” King Zachariah informed him in place of a greeting. “I thought we’d never find you a match.”

He bowed to his father, eyes carefully downcast. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

“And what is this I hear about you flying into the palace like a common pigeon? Was a carriage not sent?”

“It was, Your Majesty.”

“I see your time in the military has undone every lesson on etiquette you’ve had. When you marry your _human,_ ” the king shuddered at the word, “you must remember where you’ve come from. I will not have our kingdom shamed by your bad manners.”

“Human? I thought—”

“Quiet! Of course you’re marrying a human. Did you think an angel would want someone like you?”

“My apologies, Your Majesty. I meant no—”

Zachariah waved him off, jewels glistening on his pudgy fingers. “You must prepare. Do try and look presentable. They’ll be disappointed enough as it is when they see you.”

Castiel bowed again and retreated from the throne room, a scowl on his face as he stalked through the winding halls to his room. He never thought his father would sink low enough to allow a human into their family tree, but it made sense. With his looks, it would be nearly impossible to find another angel willing to marry him. After a decade in the military, he completely forgot the reality of living at the palace, where one only had their looks and family name to recommend them to his peers. The military always prized his skill and brawn, not caring one bit that he didn’t look like a typical angel.

Unlike the majority of his people, his wings were too dark, too spiky and aggressive compared to the fluffy whites and creams of most other angels. On the battlefield, bright wings were a liability, and his men would often color them with ash and coal. The naturally dark color of his wings gave him an advantage and set him apart. But in the capital city, the more you looked like their ancestors who descended from heaven centuries before, the better. That meant bright white wings even if you needed to bleach them to achieve it. He knew for a fact that Michel had been bleaching his white since he was a teen and now needed feathers implanted to cover up the damage.

But it was more than his wings that set him apart. His cheekbones were not high enough, his brow too heavy and nothing like the delicately arched features of his kind. He wasn’t lithe and tall like his brother Balthazar, and his looks would never stand up next to the near-textbook beauty Michael possessed. He was short for an angel and stocky. He was too thick, and his gait too heavy and nothing like the graceful walk of their kind. He didn’t have Prince Gabriel’s delicate cupid's bow lips, his were wide and plump. His expression was too intense, and not at all pleasing like Raphael’s. His eyes were too downturned and tired looking from his years at war. He had too many scars, too much muscle.

Everything about him was wrong.

No matter how decorated his military career was, how many legions of demons he and his garrison had defeated and villages he’s saved from certain death, one comment from his father was enough to remind him that no one with his looks could ever be expected to marry well.

He had known from a young age that an arranged marriage was the only way he’d ever find someone to marry, and it was something that he simply accepted as a member of the royal family. Now that his time had come, he could only hope that the poor soul knew what was coming. 

That was his main concern, right up until he learned that he was betrothed to none other than Prince Dean of Winchester.

On paper, it was nothing but a common political marriage. A way to finally placate King John and maintain the peace that they both strove to keep. Officially uniting their kingdoms would benefit the two politically, in trade, and in the war against demons. But to send Castiel, the fifth son and King Zachariah’s ugliest child, was an insult to the kingdom of Winchester and the gravity of the situation. Castiel had been far removed from palace politics, but even _he_ was aware of how his father was frothing at the mouth for war. 

The kingdom of Winchester was utterly ignorant of the situation when they approved the marriage and signed the contract that would bind the kingdoms together. As the youngest son of the king, no one knew what he looked like. His portrait had never been painted and sent to the neighboring kingdoms because he simply wasn’t important enough. He had never been asked to make the journey to Winchester, nor would his father want him there. Castiel’s specialty was military tactics and battle knowledge, not politics. He was too straightforward for diplomacy and his talent for strategizing kept him on the field working with the humans his father hated so much, rather than royals.

He pitied his betrothed and dreaded the moment they’d meet face to face. As the Crown Prince, Dean’s portrait had been sent around once he came of age, and while Castiel’s people would admit that the man was merely tolerable by angelic standards, Cas found him to be one of the most attractive people he’s ever seen. He was an intriguing mixture of angelic beauty and human ruggedness: clear green eyes and delicate lips, but with a sharp jaw and even sharper smile. He was broad-shouldered, much like Castiel, and he could tell by Dean’s build that he was tall for a human, putting him roughly at Castiel’s height. Having worked side by side with their commanders and generals, he had been exposed to humans far more than any other of his kind and had always been fascinated by them and their differences. Dean was no exception.

He was beautiful, and once he laid eyes on Castiel, all of Winchester would see the marriage for what it was: an insult. Angels were known for their otherworldly beauty, and marrying one was often seen as the pinnacle of accomplishment. So, to send someone as strange looking as Castiel, a man with no real royal influence and nothing to offer the kingdom of Winchester… He shuddered to know where that would leave him. There was no way Prince Dean would actually go through with the union, playing right into his father’s hands. With a broken marriage alliance, his father would finally have an excuse to start the war he’d been itching for, one that even the other kingdoms couldn’t oppose.

It was too late to back out. The contract was signed, and Castiel was being sent to Winchester within the week, leaving him barely enough time to get his affairs in order and pack his things. Half of the items he was bringing weren't even his. New clothes, new jewels, and a silver circlet he hadn’t worn since he was a young teen. 

Time flew too quickly, and before he knew it, he was climbing into the royal carriage and watching his home disappear on the horizon. As the carriage made its way down the cobbled streets that connected their kingdoms, Castiel sat in silence, focusing on the sound of their carriage and the ones following, barely even hearing Balthazar’s tirade.

“—and don’t even get me started on what he was wearing, love. Red was _not_ his color. I know humans seem to think flashy colors make them more intimidating, but to me, he looked like a tropical fish trying to attract a mate. I pity you, Cassie. I’ve seen your fiancé. While his father leans towards garish, Prince Dean seems to prefer to look like he just rolled around in the mud. How a man could wear so much brown is beyond me.”

Castiel looked at his brother, already feeling the need to defend a man he’s never met. “I prefer muted colors as well.”

Balthazar eyed his charcoal wings and Cas pulled them in even closer, pinning them between his back and the carriage wall. “Of course, you would. I wouldn’t want to draw attention to those things either. God above, Cassie… You could have at least had them groomed. Unbelievable. Let's just add that to the list of things I’ll have to do to make you presentable.”

He turned back to the window, eying his reflection in the glass. “I’ve spent much of the week getting my affairs in order. I didn’t have time to preen.”

His brother scoffed. “What affairs? You’ve been away from home for a decade. What could you possibly have to do to get ready?”

Castiel turned his scowl to Balthazar. “I have responsibilities, Bal, and correspondences to take care of. Despite what you seem to believe, I didn’t spend that decade lounging around like you. I earned my place of command, and my garrisons—”

“No one cares about your time playing soldier, Cassie,” he interrupted with a sigh. “Give it a rest. And please, for the love of God, don’t mention it to the poor humans. I can only imagine what they’ll think of you when they find out you’re merely a commander.”

It took every ounce of control to keep his wings still so his brother wouldn't see how the dismissal affected him. His family had little interest in their military, they had no clue of his accomplishments, and he had to remind himself to let it go. He didn't care about their good opinion. “I suppose it doesn't matter.”

“Exactly.”

The carriage rolled over a large rock, jostling its occupants. He let out an annoyed sigh at being forced to take the carriage when the fastest way to travel was by wing. “Why couldn’t we fly to Winchester? This trip will take all day.”

“Fashion, my dear Cassie. I know you’ve been away from the capital, but carriages are all the rage. Besides, it will put humans at ease. Can’t have a group of us flying in, they’ll think they’re under attack!”

“Surely they won't. They are expecting us, after all.”

“Who knows what goes through their small minds? I think it’s to ensure they can’t see us until the wedding. Wouldn’t want them changing their mind.” Balthazar laughed at the thought.

“It’s tradition,” Cas pointed out. “You weren’t allowed to see Hester before your marriage, and Gabriel couldn’t see Kali.”

“And thank God for that. I would have run for my life _._ This is a good thing, love. You’re not exactly the belle of the ball. Better to let him see you once it's too late for them to back out of it.” 

He turned from Balthazar, again focusing on the rumble of the carriage. That was the point, he thought to himself. His father was hoping that Prince Dean would take one look at him and run, abandoning him at the altar and insulting King Zachariah. Balthazar couldn’t be ignorant of that.

He could hear his brother shifting in an attempt to get comfortable. Castiel didn’t mind the cramped carriage—how could he when he was used to sleeping on cots in the forest, with only a canvas tent for shelter? A small carriage was _nothing_ compared to being on the battlefield, the choking smell of sulphur in the air, blood and sweat sticking you to your clothes. “You should be happy father even accepted the alliance. From what I’ve heard, Prince Dean wasn’t happy about the whole thing. Apparently, he thinks he’s too good for an angel. Could you imagine? A _human_ thinking he’s too good for an angel. The absolute gall!”

If that was true, then Castiel was doomed. How would someone who already disliked angels feel about Castiel? No one had ever expected Castiel to play such a large role politically, so he was never trained in the customs of other kingdoms; he would likely make a fool of himself and shame his family. Balthazar was with him to make sure he didn’t cause a scandal, but what would happen when he left and Castiel was on his own?

He curled in on himself, forsaking all of his lessons on proper posture, and grabbed a handful of his secondaries, stroking along the shaft of the feathers in an attempt to calm himself. God above, this was going to be a mess and there wasn’t anything he could do to stop it. The contracts were signed and he was going to have to go through with his half of the arrangement.

When Winchester castle finally came into view, towering high above the surrounding city, Castiel had calmed and his anxiety was replaced with curiosity. It didn’t look too dissimilar to his own kingdom, despite how Zachariah described it. The city was surrounded by a tall wall, easily defensible to his trained eye. As they neared, the thick gate was opened and men on horseback rode out to meet them, surrounding their carriage and leading them through.

Unlike what King Zachariah said, Winchester Capitol wasn’t rundown and teeming with filth. The people looked clean, well-fed, and their clothes were well taken care of. This was nothing like the shabby picture his father had painted. These were not people begging for scraps and starving to death under an unjust ruler, as King Zachariah often announced. This was just a normal city with houses and markets teeming with life. He could see children playing, running through the stalls and alleys without care. The people looked happy, and some even followed the carriage in an attempt to get a look inside. Balthazar smiled and waved, enjoying the attention as Castiel sank into the shadows, grateful that his dark wings didn’t invite scrutiny and helped him blend into the interior of the carriage.

Once word got around that the carriage contained angels, the townspeople put two and two together, surmising that Prince Dean’s fiancé must be inside. By the time they’d entered the castle gates, they had drawn a large crowd of followers. The people hung back, stopped by the gate but still hoping to get a look. Castiel sank further into the seat, allowing his wings to practically envelop him. He stayed that way up the long drive, around a curve and past a loud fountain. When they finally pulled to a stop and the door was opened, Balthazar was about ready to crawl out of his skin.

“God above, I hate this blasted carriage. Can the footman possibly be any slower? If this is the kind of service you have to look forward to, I pity you.”

At last the door was opened and Balthazar burst out in an explosion of feathers. Castiel heard his older brother’s voice, already tied into a conversation with someone, and if their tone was anything to go by, he was not making a good impression. Castiel took a deep breath, unwrapped himself from the comfort of his wings, and exited the carriage. They were met by household staff and the king’s right hand, an older man named Bobby, and after a few moments of introduction, their party was led to their quarters.

He was left to his own devices, only interrupted once by a servant delivering a late dinner. He only picked at his meal, too tired and anxious to feel hungry. With more than half left on his plate, he went to the wide window and opened it as far as it would go. Castiel looked in the direction of his palace, the place he had called home for the first half of his life, and felt only frustration. If he had been born a commoner, he could have lived his entire life in the army and never been sent away as a pawn in his father’s stupid game.

Castiel’s musing was interrupted by the sound of quiet footsteps slowly making their way down the hall outside the door. It was only his angelic hearing and military training that helped him pick out the slight tap of a low heeled shoe on the carpet. The heavy gait told him whoever was coming was a male human, and still twenty to thirty feet away by his estimation. He approached his door and waited, sure that the only reason someone would be walking past his room past nine would be for him, and sure enough, the steps paused outside his door, and after a pause and long sigh, they knocked.

When he pushed it open, he was greeted by a man in fine clothing: a heavily embroidered blue silk vest and matching breeches, very unlike the uniform of the palace staff. He was tall for a human, matching the height of Balthazar, with hazel eyes and chestnut brown hair long enough to graze his chin. The man was staring, mouth parted as he took Castiel in. “You’re Prince Castiel.”

It didn’t sound like a question, but he supposed it must have been. “I am. May I help you?”

He seemed to shake himself out of it. “I’m sorry, I’m Samuel, but you can call me Sam. I’m—”

“Prince Samuel,” he breathed, shock clouding his features. He didn’t know much about King John and his two sons, but he did know their names, and while he and his brother didn’t share many features, they had the same smile. He offered a shallow bow. “Forgive me. I did not expect to be visited tonight. Please come in.”

As he stepped aside and allowed Prince Samuel into his room, he ran a hand through his unkempt hair, frustrated with himself that he hadn’t taken the time to wash the stink of the road from himself yet. Thankfully, he hadn’t even begun to unpack and the room was still as tidy as it was when he entered a few hours earlier.

“I hope it's ok that I’m here. I know you’re not allowed to see Dean until the ceremony, but I wasn’t sure if it was the whole family, or just him.”

“It is fine,” he remarked, gesturing towards his breakfast nook. He set the mostly full plates aside and took a seat with his future brother-in-law. “It is only Prince Dean I can’t see in the few days leading up to the wedding. It’s tradition, you understand.”

“In our kingdom, you can see your fiancé right before the wedding if you want.” He was staring still, taking in all of Castiel’s features and wings, eyes flicking back and forth between the two.

“That must be nice.” He shifted his wings and watched as Sam's eyes followed them. Castiel was tempted to tuck them into his back, but he forced himself to relax instead.

“You know what he looks like, right? I can take you to the portrait gallery if you want. He’s already in his room for the night, so you won't risk running into him.”

The longer Prince Samuel stared, the more he wanted to jump out the window and fly away. He felt like he was waiting for the moment Samuel would open his mouth and ask why the hell _he_ was here. As a prince, he would have met enough angels to know that Castiel wasn’t normal. “That’s not necessary. I was able to see the portrait painted for his coming of age.”

Samuel stifled a laugh. “He hated sitting for that.”

“I thought it was a fine portrait.”

“It's too bad we didn’t get one of yours, then. He still has no idea what you look like.”

Castiel already knew that there was no way Prince Dean could know what he looked like, but it still put him at ease to hear it confirmed. “I’ve never sat for a portrait. I was already in the military when I came of age.”

That seemed to surprise him. “You were in the military?”

“Yes, for a decade at least. I’ve only been home a handful of times, and they were short visits.”

“That makes sense, then. When Dean found out about the arrangement last month, he tried to look in the records hall, but no one could find anything about you other than a birth announcement.”

His ears perked up at the mention of ‘last month.’ So Prince Dean had been told ahead of time? Well, at least he had more time to prepare than Castiel did. “I apologize. I imagine not much has been written about me. I’m merely the fifth son, after all.”

Samuel frowned. “Maybe…”

Castiel didn’t like the calculation in his eyes and attempted to change the subject. “Are you engaged, Samuel?” 

“Please, call me Sam. We’re going to be brothers, after all.”

Castiel seriously doubted that, but it was a nice thought nonetheless. “Sam, then.”

“And yes. I’ve been engaged for a few months now.”

“To a human?”

He nodded. “Her name is Jessica and she's a princess from the Kingdom of Moore.”

“They have a flourishing gem trade, do they not?”

“Yes. Sapphires, specifically. It's one of the reasons my father said yes to the match.”

They lapsed into silence, Samuel still staring, and Castiel growing so uncomfortable that it was beginning to show in his wings. As his feathers grew more and more agitated, swaying and twitching as if fighting against a strong wind, Samuel’s eyes tracked them, cataloging their movements. Castiel cleared his throat and Sam's eyes went back to his. “I apologize for my appearance. I know I’m…”

Samuel blushed, realizing he had done nothing but stare. “I’m trying not to be rude… But you don’t really look like an angel. Well, you have wings, obviously, but…”

“I am aware I don’t look like the average angel.”

This seemed to fluster him even more. “That’s not what I meant, I— uh… I’m sorry. It's late, I should let you get your rest. Tomorrow is going to be a big day.”

He stood and followed Sam to the door to bid him goodnight. “Thank you for visiting.”

“Have a good night.” Samuel hesitated in the doorway. “We’ll see you in the morning.”

He shut the door and sighed. Surely, by morning word would get out that Castiel was a hideous excuse for an angel, and his fiancé would cancel the whole ordeal. Facing his wedding day was the most stressful thing he’s ever gone through, more stressful than war or even dealing with his own family. With battle, he knew what to expect. There were plans, rules of engagement. But with a man he’s never met, there was only uncertainty, and there was nothing worse than that.

**o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o**

When he woke up the next morning, it was to his brother throwing open the heavy brocade curtains and letting the early morning light into his large room. He slept surprisingly well considering the stress of the day before him, and he chalked it up to his many years of being able to sleep practically anywhere. Balthazar immediately went to his chests and began pulling clothes out, seemingly at random, making as much noise as possible.

“Rise and shine, Cassie! It's your big day!” He slammed the wooden chest shut and moved along to the next, still in search of who knows what. “Hurry and wash, I need to groom those wings of yours and you _know_ how long that’ll take.”

He sat up and pushed the blanket off his legs, already annoyed at the primping that was to come. He’d need to wash with herbed soaps, be coated in special oils, his wings would need to be groomed, the ceremonial robe would need to be put on, and ribbons and gaudy baubles would need to be woven between his feathers. It was going to be a long and annoying morning.

Servants poured into the room and began puttering about, providing him breakfast and placing a bath in the center of the room. He could already hear the grunts of servants carrying heavy buckets of water up and down the hall, slipping and stumbling under their weight.

Ignoring his breakfast, Castiel stood up and allowed himself to be stripped out of his sleep shirt and led to the tub by a red-faced servant. He shook his head at the servant's reaction, nudity having long ago lost its meaning. It was hard to keep a sense of modesty when you were on the battlefield for months at a time with only a shallow river to see to your needs and a group of equally naked men by your side. Or, perhaps it wasn’t his nudity, but _him_ that was eliciting that reaction. He knew his body was covered in old silver-white scars, his build stocky and thick, far too muscular for an angel of high birth. Next to Balthazar’s lithe and graceful form, he must have been a sore sight. It was likely they just had never seen an angel like him, and that he understood.

Balthazar prattled on for his entire bath, eating Castiel’s breakfast and busying himself with getting the ceremonial robe and wing accessories ready for him, never once addressing him directly. The few servants remaining eyed Balthazar nervously, and Castiel wanted to laugh at them. Out of all his brothers, Balthazar was the _least_ intimidating and the most likely to treat them with respect, despite his near-constant complaints about the ribbons being tangled, the robe wrinkled, the pearls not polished enough or his tastes, the room too drafty, the humans too loud, and their perfumes too strong.

Castiel continued soaping himself and scrubbing at his hair, finishing his bath in record time so he could get dressed and the servants could be dismissed. Balthazar was about to get an ear full, and he didn’t want the servants to witness it. The moment a servant poured the last pitcher of warm water over his head, he stood and a servant helped him into a banyan.

“Who packed these for you, the stable boy?” Balthazar held a knotted blue ribbon an inch from his eyes, attempting to work out the knot. “It’s so hard to find good help these days.”

Castiel turned to the room of servants and cleared his throat. They stopped in their tasks, nervously giving him their attention. He took in their reactions, noting their trepidation, and concluded that the angels they’ve dealt with from his kingdom hadn’t been the most gracious. If they had served his father or Michael at any time in the past, that was a guarantee. Well, this was going to be his home if his fiancé didn’t run screaming from the altar, and he was determined to change that impression. “If you’ll excuse us, I’d like to finish the preparations with my brother. Thank you for your help.”

They all collectively blinked at him and scurried from the room, with only one brave servant remaining. “Sir, would you like us to bring you another breakfast?”

He eyed his mostly eaten breakfast and sighed. Despite his growing hunger, it was custom to fast in the morning to bring yourself closer to God. “No. I won’t be eating this morning.”

With a nod, he too left and joined the rest of the servants in the hall. He could hear their confused words even after they closed the thick door, none having a clue that he could still pick up their chatter. Humans who hadn’t served in the military often underestimated the senses of angels.

“Balthazar, do shut up.” He crossed the room to his brother and pinned him with an impressive glare. “I’ll not have you scaring off the servants.”

“They’ll be fine.” He waved Castiel away. “You could help me, you know.”

“I thought it was my big day. Surely that allows me time for leisure.”

“You wouldn’t know leisure if it bit you in the ass. Ah!” he held up the untangled ribbon. “Got it! Only eleven more to go. God above, why did it have to be twelve tribes? It would have been so much easier if there were five.”

“I’ll start the anointing process.”

“Don’t get any oil in your wings, or we’ll have to bathe you again.”

“I know.” He was there when Michael was married, and although he hadn’t been allowed to help, he had watched the process from start to finish, fascinated by the symbolism of it all. He’d asked questions the entire time, sometimes getting an answer, and sometimes told an emphatic ‘I don't know’ and to keep quiet. He’d done his own research afterward. The anointing oil was a blend using pressed olives from the oldest olive tree in the region as its base. The olive oil was meant to cleanse, the myrrh to purify, cinnamon for health, and the cassia oil for emotional well-being and grounding. Its strong scent tickled his nose as he discarded his banyan and rubbed the oil into his bath-softened skin, the cinnamon offering just the slightest tingle.

Once he was done, it was finally time to get dressed. He donned his nicest suit, a muted blue with tastefully embroidered oak branches and calla lilies, and slipped into his buckled shoes. Balthazar had rolled his eyes when he first picked the set out, but if he was going to be smothered in a thick fur-lined robe for the entire wedding ceremony, then he was going to be as comfortable as possible.

Soon, it was time for the ceremonial robe, a silver silk monstrosity lined with ermine fur and embroidered with their royal crest. The robe, blessed by their religious leaders, was carefully draped below his wings and then over his shoulders, where it was then clasped around his neck. He immediately felt the weight of it, nearly suffocating him with the expectations of all those who wore it before him.

He threw the front over his shoulder in an attempt to keep cool during the part that followed. Balthazar, joining him again with his box of newly untangled silk ribbons, got comfortable behind him. It had been years since his wings had received more than a cursory grooming, just his own fingers running through the tangles, and if there was a particularly dry patch, a bit of oil. Not surprisingly, Balthazar didn't keep his opinion on the state of his wings to himself as he began stimulating Castiel’s oil gland and gliding his slick fingers through the dark feathers.

“God above, this is a mess. I don’t know how they expect me to work miracles.”

Castiel let him talk, his mind far from the present happenings. Part of preparing for the wedding was having only positive thoughts in his mind, but dread was slowly sinking in and he couldn’t help but picture all the things that could go wrong.

“You’re lucky you have me here. Our brothers' grooming skills have always lacked. I might even be able to calm these things down.” He ran his fingers over the tops of his wings, pinching and smoothing at his spiked feathers.

He jerked his wing away. Wings were supposed to be prim and fluffy, always pleasant to look at, but he had never fit the standard and used to resent them in his youth. Now, he felt differently. They were dark, and that kept him safe. They were spiked and aggressive, and that intimidated his enemies. He’s stopped seeing them as unsightly and instead saw that as part of what made him _him._ “Keep them.”

Balthazar let out a sigh. “You look like you’re about to fly into battle.”

“Please.”

“Fine, at least it will match your hair.”

Castiel smoothed a hand over his wavy locks, just barely beginning to grow since the last time he’d cropped it. “There’s nothing wrong with my hair.”

“Cassie, there’s a lot of things wrong with your hair, but it would take all day to address them.”

Castiel smiled at his brother's quip. “Perhaps you’re jealous that mine isn’t thinning like yours?”

Bal’s hands froze in their grooming. “You ass. There is absolutely nothing wrong with my hair.”

For the first time in days, he burst into laughter. Balthazar got back to grooming, muttering under his breath about annoying little brothers. When he was done, he picked up the box and started by pulling out the twelve ribbons, leaving the pearls for later. They were cobalt blue and matched his eyes. It was the only thing they had asked his opinion on, and he chose it to contrast the normal yellows and golds that were so flattering against a pair of white wings. With practiced hands, his brother wove them into his feathers, manipulating the ribbons to drape nicely across the arches and flares of his wings. By the time Balthazar was done trussing him up like a chicken, it was time to place his circlet.

Castiel watched him pull out the jar of thick pomade. “Leave my hair as it is.”

Balthazar’s shoulders slumped. “Cassie…”

“Please.”

His brother just shook his head in frustration. “It's your wedding, Cassie. If you want your hair to look like you just flew through a storm, then I’m not going to force you. I suppose it _does_ look good on you.”

It was the closest thing Bal had ever said to a compliment, and his traitorous heart fluttered. “I appreciate all of this. I know we have never been close, but it means a lot that you’re here.”

His brother could have said a lot of things. _‘I didn’t have a choice’ or ‘No one else was willing to be here for you’,_ but instead Balthazar patted him on his shoulder. “I wouldn’t miss your big day.”

His brother carefully lowered the silver circlet onto his head, placing it just at his hairline. Castiel looked at himself in the mirror and it felt like he was looking at a stranger. He’d never cared for his appearance and the only times he even glanced into a mirror was to shave, so to see himself done up like an actual royal was jarring.

“You don’t look half bad, Cassie. I still think we should have done the hair, but it really does match your wings. I dare say Prince Dean might like it.”

“Balthazar, you must know…”

“Stop it. He’s going to love it.”

Castiel pursed his lips. “Bal… Don’t lie to me.”

“I know what our father's plans are,” he started, “and I know it’s not going to work. Other than you, I’ve probably spent the most time around humans, and know them far better than he does. Answer me this. Has a human ever treated you badly because you don’t look like us?”

“Royals are different, though. Their soldiers don’t care about appearances, only skill. To a royal, looks are everything.”

“I don’t agree, but I’ll promise you this: if Prince Dean even looks at you wrong, I’ll kick his ass.”

Castiel snorted. “Please don’t, because then I’ll have to jump in and save you. We both know you can’t throw a punch.”

A knock on the door interrupted them, and a servant entered to announce that it was half ten. It was finally time, and surprisingly, his brother had helped calm his nerves. Castiel stood and adjusted the ceremonial cloak, making sure the fur collar fell evenly and draped his wings appropriately. Their small procession made its way down the hall, heading to the throne room where the ceremony would take place. It was a long, winding path, but he couldn’t take any of it in. His only thought was that he was about to meet his fiancé and finally see him in person, rather than holding onto the memory of a portrait that had been painted when the man was eighteen.

Too quickly, they were in front of the large door and Balthazar squeezed his hand before walking through it. Despite being surrounded by servants, Castiel felt incredibly alone. It was only minutes, but it felt like hours before the door was being opened once more for him to enter.

All eyes landed on him as he stepped into the main hall, and a hush fell upon the room. He fought every instinct to hide, and instead, he held his wings steady, displaying a confidence he didn’t feel. He walked slowly and carefully up the aisle, eyes immediately falling on Dean’s back. He was facing the priest and was mostly covered by his ceremonial robe, but the light brown hair, styled to perfection, was the same from the painting. He pulled his eyes away, afraid that if he didn’t, he’d be so mesmerized he’d trip over his own feet. 

On either side of the priest stood Balthazar and King John. His brother looked at him with solemn satisfaction, eyes glinting with pride. The king stood to the right, head held high and looking every inch the royal he was. To Cas’s astonishment, he could see the same pride in the king’s eyes as Castiel approached, as if he was exactly the man he wanted Dean to marry. As if Castiel hadn’t been his fifth choice and last attempt to unite their kingdoms.

That look gave him the courage to close the last few feet and step up onto the dais, finally standing shoulder to shoulder with his fiance. With both of them in front of the altar, the priest gave them a smile and gestured for them to take each other in.

His heart beat in double time as those familiar green eyes met his for the first time. They were even better in person. While the artist had captured the shape and color, they had completely neglected the warmth. They weren’t a cool green at all, but a summer's green dotted with gold and brown. When he could finally drag his gaze away from Dean’s eyes, he was met with sunkissed skin. It was a shame that the artist failed to paint the constellation of freckles decorating his face. His father would call them an imperfection, but to Castiel, they were bewitching.

Prince Dean had grown into a handsome man. The lips that reminded him so much of an angel’s had remained unchanged, but nearly everything else was different. His jaw was stronger, his cheekbones sharper, his hair shorter. His boyish beauty was gone and a man was in his place, one so out of his league that it was laughable.

Prince Dean’s lips parted on their own and he let out a breath. “Oh, fuck.”

Castiel’s cheeks reddened, and he turned to the priest in shame, aware that his betrothed’s eyes were still on him. No doubt his fiancé was already planning an exit. But as the priest began to speak, Prince Dean turned to face the man and remained in place. A few moments later when they hit their cue, they grasped each other's hands and knelt before the altar. The space was too small for someone of his wingspan, forcing him to drape his wings behind Prince Dean, blocking him from the view of half the audience.

_He’s not running_ , his mind said to him, but no… He must be planning his escape _. He’s going through with it,_ it said again, but he still couldn’t accept it. Those words ran through his mind on repeat, and as time stretched on and the priest began to talk, his worry was replaced with shock. The priest could have been speaking another language for all he knew. What was very clear to him was that he was quickly becoming a married man. How had he never considered _that_ might be the outcome? He wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all, but the priest was still going. Dean hadn’t stopped the ceremony, and the king was looking down at them with pride.

He itched to turn to Prince Dean and ask him point-blank what he was doing. Surely, he knew he was getting the short end of the stick. He _must_ know that he could do better for his kingdom than marrying Castiel. But suddenly, the priest was looking at him and he knew it was time foy him to say “I do,” binding them in this life.

Finally, it was Dean’s turn. With no hesitation, Dean’s surprisingly gruff voice told the priest “I do,” and to Castiel’s utter surprise, they were married.

Without any input from him, his body was turning to face Dean, and their lips joined. Prince Dean’s were warm and shaking in a surprising show of nerves. Before he could even register how Dean’s lips felt against his, the kiss ended, and both men turned back to the priest to receive their final blessings.

The rest of the ceremony passed in a blur. They were directed to stand, face the crowd, and walk out of the room to the sound of applause. He knew that as Prince Dean walked next to him, he snuck glances, eyes going from Castiel’s profile to his wings and back to the hall in front of them before repeating the process all over again. He knew they were being led to a separate room to sign the marriage contract and have a moment to themselves before they made their way to the feast. Castiel felt a quill being pressed into his hand, felt his muscle memory scribble out a signature, and suddenly, they were being left alone.

The room felt stifling, and before he could think better of it, he was unclasping the two-hundred-year-old ceremonial robe and letting it slide off his back into a heap on the floor. He took a few deep breaths, knowing that his fiancé—no, husband—was watching him. His wings fluttered nervously, pulling at the ribbons and flicking a few pearls across the room.

“Hey, are you alright?” a deep voice asked.

Like Castiel, the prince had discarded his robe, revealing a well-fitting hunter green suit underneath. He was trim underneath his clothing, with well-muscled arms and wide shoulders. He seemed just as nervous as Castiel, and that, oddly enough, calmed him a bit. “Forgive me, Prince Dean. I find myself needing a moment to process.”

He huffed. “Just call me Dean.”

“Hello, Dean,” he tried, testing the name. Castiel found he liked the way Dean’s name felt on his tongue.

“I get it, man, that was a shit show. Thank god we’ll never have to do that again.”

The cursing startled him. “Oh?”

“Yeah, at least we only have the feast left. I heard Elieen, our head baker, made her apple turnovers. It’s not pie, but it’s almost just as good. One of these days I’ll have to take you down to the city and let you try Jody’s apple pie. I guarantee it’ll beat anything you’ve tried at home.”

He never expected Dean to be so casual, so open and irreverent. It reminded him of the way human men interacted with him in the military, all informal speech and comradery. It did more to calm his beating heart than any breathing exercise could. Perhaps he _could_ do this. “I’ve never had an apple turnover or a pie.”

“Oh, man…” A slow smile appeared on his face, and Castiel had never had such brilliance directed at him before. “You’re gonna love them.”

Castiel took a step towards his husband, and the man seemed pleased that he had managed to pull himself together. “I must admit that I didn’t expect to end the day married.”

“You’re telling me. I half expected you to put those wings to use and fly the fuck out of there.”

Castiel let out a burst of laughter at the ridiculousness of his statement. “You thought _I_ would leave?”

“Yeah. I’ve met King Zachariah. I didn’t think you’d actually go through with it.”

“I am nothing like my father, I assure you.”

“I can already tell, Cas. Shit, can I call you Cas? I’ve been saying it in my head for weeks.”

Castiel had the feeling he’d let Dean call him anything if it earned him another smile. “Please. I want you to be comfortable around me.”

His smile widened. “Awesome. We should head to the great hall. I don’t want them to get any ideas if we stay in here too long.”

Cas tilted his head. “Ideas?”

Dean’s smile disappeared and was replaced with a blush. “Nevermind. Let's go.”

He made it to the hallway before he finally understood. “You meant sex.”

Dean stumbled. “Shit. You can't just say that out loud, Cas.”

Cas kept his grin all of the way to the great hall.

**o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o**

Dean, Cas soon found out, was a talker. He maintained a constant flow of chatter throughout the first two courses, only requiring a few words from Cas through it all. He talked at length about his brother Sam and his fiancé Jessica, telling Cas that it was a love match if he ever saw one, and recounting all of the instances of awkward flirting he was lucky enough to witness. It was clear that he and his brother were close, and Cas found himself jealous of the two. 

By the time they had been served the fish course, he had moved on to talking about himself, recounting the tale of how he got his horse, a mare named Impala.

“I tend to her myself. It's better that way and helps the bond. Do you have a horse?”

Castiel shook his head, “We have them at the capital, but our kind tends to use them for labor rather than riding. When we need to move, we fly.”

That drew his attention to Castiel’s wings, and once he started looking, he couldn’t stop. Dean seemed to be trying to take in every detail into memory. Their dark charcoal color, the slick shine that Balthazar had worked into them that morning, the unruly feathers that always stuck up at the arch. He seemed fascinated, and to Cas’s relief, not at all disappointed in their appearance.

That boosted his confidence enough to make him a little reckless. “You’re my husband. You are allowed to touch my wings. In time, I’ll teach you to groom them if you wish. It’s an integral part of courtship for angels.”

Dean blushed, embarrassed at getting caught. “Courtship, huh? We’re already married.”

Balthazar had always been the charming one. That angel could talk the pants off of anyone and seemed to know just what to say to put someone at ease. He had never been personable like his brother, but what he _was_ , was direct. “Yes, but I hope that is not all we’ll be.”

Cas went back to his fish, giving Dean all the time he needed to take the statement in. With the forkful of fish halfway to his mouth, he felt a tentative touch on his wing. The appendage twitched at the sensation and Dean drew back as if shocked.

The man put his hand guiltily in his lap. “Shit, sorry. I thought—”

“It’s fine. They’re just sensitive.”

The hand slowly returned, petting softly through the feathers and sending a pleasant warmth into Cas’s belly. Dean kept his hand on his wing throughout the rest of dinner, and only removed it when the apple turnovers were placed in front of him.

When dinner was finally over, Dean cleared his throat. “I think they’re waiting for us to dance. What do you think?”

“I don’t often dance, but I will if you ask it of me.” That was a gross understatement. The last time he danced was at Gabriel’s wedding more than six years ago.

“Yeah, I’m asking. Come on.” He stood and held out his hand. “We gotta at least get one dance in.”

He accepted the prince's hand and was led to the dance floor. Immediately, the music was switched to a slow waltz, and a crowd converged around the floor to watch the couple dance.

“So…” Dean began awkwardly, leading Cas into a slow waltz. “Why don’t you dance? Isn't that prince duty number one?”

“I don’t have occasion to. I don’t spend much time in court, so my exposure to balls is limited.”

“Oh. Are you an academic?”

“No.”

“Businessman?”

“No.”

He smirked. “Are you a man of leisure? Laying around all day with pretty angels feeding you grapes and shit?”

That caused him to laugh. “No, quite the opposite.”

“Charity work?”

He shook his head.

“Come on, man. You gotta help me out.”

“No.”

Dean snorted loudly. King Zachariah would have had a stroke at his husband's behavior, but Castiel found it absolutely adorable. “My brother said I’d like you.”

“He did?” Cas was surprised, he thought Sam would have run to him and told him how odd he was, both in looks and personality.

“Yeah. I talked to him this morning and he told me a little about you, but he’s into that whole angel thing so I couldn’t trust his opinion.”

“Angel thing? Do you mean wings?”

“You know…” He rubbed a hand over his mouth, clearly embarrassed. “Angels all kinda look… And you don’t really… fit. I’m fucking this up, aren’t I?”

“You’re not the first person to tell me I don’t look like an angel,” he quipped, thinking back to his conversation the previous night with Samuel when the young prince had said that exact thing. “I’ve been told I’m unattractive before, and it no longer offends me.”

“Shit, man. You’re the hottest fucking angel I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen a lot of angels.”

He stared at Dean, eyes wide in alarm. “What?”

“You’re a fucking smokeshow.”

It was such a foreign idea that he was sure he misheard. “You think I’m attractive?”

“Definitely.”

“I was warned you didn’t like angels.”

Dean snorted. “Have you _met_ your brother?”

Cas _almost_ smiled at that. “You must be speaking of Michael.”

Dean’s lip curled up at the mention of his brother’s name. “Your brother is a bag of dicks. Whenever Michael comes here, he treats my staff like shit and acts like he’s better than everyone. He thinks he’s hot shit, but I just don’t see it. I was so glad I didn’t have to marry that asshole.”

“You don't think he’s attractive? He’s considered a great beauty across the kingdoms.”

“Yeah, if you’re into that.”

“And you’re not…” He took his hand off Dean’s shoulder to do an air quote. “ _Into that_?”

“No. I prefer my partners a little more…” Dean trailed off, eyes caressing over Cas’s body and sending a surge of heat through him. “A little more like you.”

Cas felt like his entire world got turned upside down. “So, you like that I look like this?”

“Definitely.” His hand slid from its place between his wings to his lower back. “I _really_ like it.”

“But Michael—”

“What about Michael? From what I can tell, you’re a hundred times better. I was a little worried when you never responded to my letter, but...”

“Your letter?”

“Yeah… You never wrote back to me so I thought you were going to be just like him, but you’re not, obviously. I get it, we didn’t ask for this, but I figured you coulda at least sent a note back.”

The conversation was jumping around too fast for him to follow. “I’m sorry. What letter?”

“The one I sent you?” His lips were pressed into a grimace. “Come on, man. I tried to introduce myself and get to know you a little.”

“I never received any letters.”

Dean must not have considered that even being an option because he stumbled over his feet. “What do you mean?”

“I swear to you, Dean. I never got your letter.”

“But I sent it to you.”

“I believe you. Perhaps by the time it was forwarded to me it was too late?”

“Forwarded? You weren’t at the palace?”

“I’ve been at the war front for the last decade. The only letters I receive are missives from my fellow commanders or summons to the palace. I never got your letter. I would have sent a reply.”

“You’re a soldier?”

“Yes. I’m a commander.”

Dean’s eyes were as wide as saucers. “No, shit? I wanted to join the military when I was a kid, but my dad wouldn’t let me.”

“Well, you _are_ the crown prince. I’m the fifth son, so my father didn’t care to keep me around.”

“You’re dad is a dick.”

The casual insult brought a smile to his face. “Now that I’m officially a part of the Winchester household, I can agree with your statement. He _is_ a dick.”

Dean threw his head back and laughed. “Can you tell me about your service?”

“It's all I’ve known. I’ve been there since I was sixteen. I never learned politics or diplomacy. I can’t tell you the names of important people, or hold a conversation about anything other than war tactics. I’m a strategist, nothing else. I’m sorry if you were expecting—”

“Cas!” Dean interrupted. “I don’t give a shit about that. My dad doesn’t either, obviously, or he wouldn’t have suggested the alliance.”

He cringed. “I was under the impression your father would have preferred Michael.”

“Well, yeah. He’s the crown prince, but after he got engaged, my dad tabled wedding talk for a while. Well, until he sent the letter about you.”

Cas could have laughed. To think that his father’s mad dash to get his brothers married had been for nothing! “I was his second choice? Surely he would have preferred Balthazar or even Gabriel.”

Dean shook his head. “Don’t sell yourself short. He musta seen something in you. Maybe it was the military thing. We could always use a strategist in the castle.”

“Perhaps.” But he wasn’t convinced. Sam had said that they were unable to find anything about him in their hall of records, not even of his service. There had to be another reason, but it was beyond his comprehension.

“Besides, I’ve met your family. Trust me, you’re ten times better than all your brothers combined, and I’m really glad it was you.”

“You’re the first person who's ever told me that.”

“Well, I’ll tell you as many times as you want.”

“Thank you, Dean.”

“So, tell me about the military. I’ve only been to the war front before I came of age, so I don’t know much. What exactly do you do?”

The song drew to a close, and another started. With more couples now on the dance floor, they had to press even closer. “I led two garrisons, and as a commander, sat in on council meetings with your generals. I helped strategize and manage the troops, delegating where they went and when, coordinated supply caravans, and interrogations.”

“Shit. So, you were important.”

“I was doing my job.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “I know. Still, you must have met a lot of angels.”

“I suppose you could say that. I was familiar with the other commanders and their garrisons.”

“So, do you know…” his hand slid up Cas’s back, drawing him even closer and dipping his voice down to a husky whisper. “The Angel of Thursday?”

Castiel remained silent for a few beats too long, and Dean pulled back with pink cheeks. A frown wormed its way onto Cas’s face, and he could only stare at Dean in confusion. “The Angel of Thursday?”

“Yeah. I’ve heard stories about him from the soldiers. He’s amazing—I mean, I've heard he’s amazing. So, did you ever meet him?” When Cas just continued to stare, he got even redder. “He’s not a myth, right? He’s done some unbelievable shit, but my men swear they saw him. One guy even said he broke bread with him.”

“What do your men say about him?” he asked nervously.

Dean’s eyes widened. “So he is real? I fuckin knew it. I’ve heard about his fighting style, but no one can tell me much else. We’ve heard some crazy stories about him. A few years ago he flew in to save an entire village single-handedly, picking off the demons like it was nothing and leaving just as quick. No one would have believed it if he hadn’t left a few feathers behind, which is how we know his wings are naturally dark. One time he escorted a princess to her kingdom and she asked her father if she could marry him! How crazy is that?”

Cas stood there stunned. He had _not_ known that Princess Daphne had asked for his hand. Thank God she never figured out who he was. “Really?”

Dean nodded enthusiastically. “He's saved villages and been on rescue missions, played escort… There’s nothing he hasn’t done. You’ve heard the songs, right? At first, I thought he was too good to be true, but other soldiers confirmed it! They can’t _all_ be lying.”

Cas listened to him enthusiastically recount the angel’s many accomplishments, getting a surprising amount of the facts correct. He didn’t know whether he wanted to admit it was him or deny it to his dying breath. He _had_ to know if there was a chance of him being recognized. “Oh? Do they know what he looks like?”

Dean let out a sigh. “Yeah, but it's never led to anything. There are a surprising amount of angels with dark hair and blue eyes. I mean, look at _you._ My dad’s been trying to find him for a while so he can offer him rewards and medals for his service to our kingdom, but he’s been difficult to find. That’s all we know: dark hair, blue eyes, and black wings. You’d think we could find him since most angels have white wings, but on the battlefield they all blacken their wings.”

The fact that they knew so little about him, that Dean could look him in the eye and talk about him without even a glint of recognition, was reassuring. “That’s it?”

“Unfortunately, that’s the case.” Dean sighed in annoyance. “I tried to convince Dad to let me go to the encampment myself so I could give it a shot, but he was already drafting the marriage contract by that point so I needed to stay home.”

“Maybe he doesn’t want to receive medals and recognition. Maybe he sees it as his duty.”

“Well, we’ll never know, will we?” Dean offered him a charming smile, “Unless _you_ know how to find him. Tell me, Cas… Do you know any angels with dark hair and blue eyes? If you led garrisons, you might have met him, commanded him even. There can’t be a lot of angels with, um…” Dean trailed off, a small frown creasing his forehead. “...naturally dark wings like yours.”

Cas watched the gears turn in his head, and he knew what was coming. “Dean…”

“Cas.” His voice was firm and determined. “Are you the Angel of Thursday?”

He let out a deep sigh. “Yes.”

Dean stopped in his tracks, stilling on the dance floor and forcing everyone else to move around them. He stared at Cas, his expression a mixture of disbelief and confusion. “Holy fuck.”

He felt the strange urge to apologize, but before he could even open his mouth, Dean was already muttering to himself about needing to speak with his father. Dean left, practically pushing his way through the crowd in search of King John, leaving Cas standing there awkwardly.

He spotted his very confused looking brother on the sidelines, and made his way over. Balthazar looked just as confused as Cas did. “What happened? I thought you two were getting along.”

“We were. He just found out a few things about my military service and is speaking to his father.”

“Is he upset?”

“I don’t think so. Surprised, maybe. I’m going to get a little closer so I can hear him.”

He left his brother's side and followed Dean at a distance, stopping fifteen feet away from his frantic conversation with the king.

“—knew all along? What the hell, dad? You shoulda told me!”

“And ruin the surprise?” King John let out a laugh. “We’ve known about your little crush for years.”

“It’s not a little crush…” Dean defended, his voice petulant.

“You’re right. It’s a _huge_ crush. He’s a war hero and a prince, Dean. We couldn’t have chosen a better match. We were lucky King Zachariah was even willing to let him go.”

“I thought you couldn’t find him, though! No one could!”

“It took a little longer than expected, but we did. He wasn't exactly hiding, so once we found who his commander was it was only a matter of time before we traced him back to the palace and wrote King Zachariah a letter about the match. You think we don’t have spies everywhere, Dean? You should be happy.”

Castiel wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. Dean _wasn’t_ mad at him, and King John had known about him all along. All of his worries about the match felt ridiculous in hindsight.

Dean wasn’t done. “So you choose him for me, knowing that I’ve had a ridiculous crush on him for years, and you weren’t going to tell me?”

“We were hoping you’d figure it out and you did.”

“Well, fuck.”

“Language, Dean. Don’t talk like that around your husband.”

“That ship has sailed.”

“I’ll send your mother over if you can’t behave.”

“It’s my big day, cut me some slack.” Dean said nothing for a moment, then began again even quieter. “Do you think they’ll miss us if we cut out a little early?”

“Dean.”

“What, Dad? You’re telling me I can’t drag my husband back to our room? Would you prefer we choose a tapestry to hide behind instead?”

“Get the hell out of here, kid.”

Cas’s face was flushed with embarrassment as he made his way back to his brother. Balthazar was waiting expectantly, already eyeing Cas’s approach nervously. “So? What is it?”

“We’re leaving.”

“Leaving?” He leaned in, dropping his voice to a whisper. “He didn’t change his mind, did he? Because if he did, we—”

“No!” Cas interrupted. “It appears that we’re leaving to… consummate the union.”

Balthazar's expression was a kaleidoscope of emotion. “I see. Well, good for you Cassie. I’d give you a quick explanation but I see him coming and he looks determined, so it appears I won’t have the time.”

Cas rolled his eyes. “I’m far from a blushing virgin. I was in the military, and if you think we weren’t—”

“Cas,” a deep voice grumbled from his left. Cas turned to see his husband staring at him, face flushed red with clear arousal and chest heaving, hardly giving a thought to Balthazar’s presence. “We’re getting the hell out of here.”

Balthazar snorted. “Be safe, kids.”

Cas allowed himself to be dragged through the crowd, bumping into several people and hitting them with his wings until they were at the outskirts of the great hall and able to move more freely. He followed Dean silently, trusting him to get them to a bedroom in the quickest way possible.

He led them through the halls in a hurry, eyes focused on the path ahead of him and his hand clasped around Cas’s forearm. They walked for a minute in silence before Dean suddenly stopped and turned to Cas, letting go of his arm like it had burned him. “Oh, uh… Are you ok with— shit. I didn't even ask if you’d want to. Do you?”

“Don't ask stupid questions.” And before he could think about it, he grabbed the front of Dean’s coat and pulled him into a soft kiss. “Let's go.”

“So, you’re ok with—”

He trailed a finger down the button front of Dean’s vest, his eyes locked on Dean’s. “Take me to our bedroom.”

Dean shuddered and laced his fingers with Cas’s. “Follow me.”

It only took them a few more minutes to reach Dean’s room, but it could have been a lifetime. Cas was already half-hard in anticipation of what was to come, and when Dean paused to push the door open, Cas could see the hard outline of Dean’s cock through the silk of his fall front breeches.

The moment Dean got the door open, Cas shoved him through and pushed him up against the wall, using his arms and wings to box him in. Their lips connected, and it was nothing like the kiss at the ceremony or the soft one in the hall. It was teeth clashing and a vicious tangle of tongues and sliding of lips. He groaned into it, trailing his hand up the soft skin of Dean’s neck and into his hair where he was able to grip the short locks and tilt his head, deepening the kiss.

They parted a few moments later, both panting for breath. Cas went to bite at the juncture of Dean’s neck, forcing a gasp out of his husband and earning himself a slow grind of Dean’s hips against his. He pushed back, doubling the pressure. Already, this was better than any of the quick handjobs he’s gotten on the field from his fellow soldiers, and they were still fully clothed.

“Fuck, yes! Keep doing that!” Dean bucked up again when Cas sucked long and hard on his skin, not caring that he was leaving behind dark marks in areas he wouldn’t be able to conceal. He trailed up higher, tonguing at Dean’s pulse point and slowly making his way to his ear, loving the salty taste of Dean’s sweat and the sound of his panting breaths intermingled with sweet gasps.

Dean’s hands were wildly grabbing, mindlessly pulling and tugging at Cas’s clothes without any finesse until they finally found their way to Cas’s vest. His fingers fumbled with the buttons, and he grunted in frustration at the large number of them, but soon enough Cas was pulling away from Dean’s neck to shrug the vest off, letting it pool on the ground before going right back to marking him up in as many places as he could get his mouth on.

Dean’s hands trailed up his back and made their way into his wings, grabbing the bend and tugging, forcing Cas’s body flush against his. No one had ever handled his wings in such a way. He felt like Dean could do anything with him, move him any way he wanted, and he wouldn’t stop him. The idea was intoxicating.

Dean let out a low groan, hands sweeping along every inch of wing they could. “I can’t believe I get to have you.”

Cas paused and drew back. “This isn’t because of my military service, is it?”

“If by service, you mean the fact that you’re the Angel of fucking Thursday, then no. It's a huge turn on, but I’ve wanted to fuck you since the moment I saw you.”

He groaned. “You want to fuck me?”

Dean pushed them away from the wall and all but dragged them to the bed. “Would you let me?”

Cas nodded eagerly and went back to awkwardly mouthing at Dean’s neck as they walked. His knees hit the bed and he fell backward in a heap, letting his wings cushion the fall. Dean had already begun working on the buttons of his breeches, and when the fabric was finally free, he pulled Cas’s shirt from its tuck and grabbed his cock. The move was so sudden that Cas bowed from the bed, his back arching and hips thrusting into Dean’s hand.

Dean smiled wickedly and used his other hand to push the loose shirt up, exposing Cas’s nipples. “Sensitive, are you?”

With Dean’s hand on his cock and nimble fingers pinching at his nipples, he was too overwhelmed to answer. Instead, he continued thrusting his hips, forcing his cock through the tight channel of Dean’s fist. All too soon, Dean was pulling away.

“Look at you. You’re so sexy.” Dean ran his fingers down the length of Cas’s fit torso, outlining the ridges of muscle and paying special attention to the vee of his hips. “And these thighs. I can’t believe how lucky I am.”

Dean rubbed the palm of his hand over his own crotch and threw his head back in pleasure, exposing the long column of his neck. The bruises Cas had sucked into the skin were already dark, and he vowed right then and there that Dean’s neck would never be without them. He wanted to get on his knees and suck matching marks into his chest, but Dean was still wearing too many clothes. “I want to see you.”

Dean nodded and got to work on his vest, powering through the row of buttons before throwing it somewhere on the bed. He only watched Dean strip for a moment before working the rest of his clothes off. Without a scrap of clothing to separate them, Dean eagerly joined Cas on the bed. His skin was warm and soft against Cas’s, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. Cas’s own hands explored Dean, starting at his shoulders and gliding over his muscles and down the dip of his back. He teased at the swell of his ass before cupping the roundness and easing Dean into a slow thrust.

Their cocks rubbed against each other, giving them the friction they both needed to ratchet their arousal even higher.

“Fuck, baby. You feel so good.” He thrust again, this time harder and Cas saw stars. “God, you’re so hot.”

“Come on, Dean. Fuck me.”

Dean rolled to the side and grabbed a small silver jar off of his side table, and there was no mistaking what it contained. “You sure?”

“Dean…” he whined. “Please.”

“Fuck.” He opened the lid and dipped two fingers into the thick liquid. Cas was already grabbing at his knees, pulling his legs apart and exposing himself to Dean. “Cas…”

Slowly, he stroked the globes of Cas’s ass, easing him into the touch and inching carefully closer to the furled muscle. The first bush of Dean’s finger over his hole was electricity, and all the breath escaped Cas, leaving him light-headed and eager for more. Dean’s touch came again and again as his finger teased at his hole, rounding around the furled opening and adding just enough pressure to drive him crazy. “Dean!”

“Shh... I got you.” He withdrew his finger and added more oil. When the touch returned, he finally began easing it in. He tensed at the intrusion and Dean paused to give him a moment to relax, leaving the thick digit inside. Dean placed his hand on his trembling thigh and rubbed his thumb comfortingly across the silky skin, offering a soothing point of focus. Cas took a few deep breaths and then shifted his ass, permitting him to continue. He went slowly, taking it to the first knuckle, then the second. When Dean’s finger had been fully engulfed by his slick heat, Cas was already panting harshly and covered in a thin sheen of sweat from the strain. Dean gripped his cock, giving it a swift stroke and filling his body with fire.

“Dean!” he moaned, as the finger began the slow in and out slide in time with Dean’s hand on his cock. Cas sighed at the contact and tilted his hips, silently begging for more even though it already felt like the pinnacle of pleasure. It had been so long since he’d been fucked that he wasn’t sure he was going to last once Dean actually got inside of him.

Then, when it felt like it couldn’t get any better, Dean crooked his finger and grazed his prostate. His wings snapped out, breaking the ribbons in his wings and sending the pearls scattering. They flapped wildly, hitting the bedposts and sending the window drapery fluttering on the other side of the room. Dean let out a pleased chuckle and did it again, still just as light and teasing, and he was sure that he could come from just that light touch and a hand on his cock.

The finger retreated and he clenched around nothing for only a moment before two fingers returned, dripping with lubricant. The burn was intense, but once the fingers were in, entering him slowly and carefully, it began to recede. It took only a few minutes for the burn to disappear completely and be replaced by the same growing pleasure, this time building further. 

Cas was willing to do almost anything to finally get Dean inside him, so he put his hand at the base of his trembling wing and gathered some of his oils. When his hand was finally slick enough, he reached down to grab Dean’s cock, immediately beginning to stroke him. He was uncoordinated and jerky in his movements, but the way Dean curled over Cas and gasped led him to believe that Dean didn’t care at all.

He seemed to lose most of his caution and sped up his thrusts, flexing his finger to nail Cas’s prostate every time. He was being so loud he was sure his brother could hear it all the way from the ballroom and he thanked any god who was listening that humans didn’t have the same hearing. “Dean! Please!”

Between one second and the next, the fingers pulled out and the hand around his cock disappeared. Cas cried out at the loss, but Dean didn’t leave him empty for too long. Within seconds, the blunt head of Dean’s cock was at his entrance and Dean’s hands were on his thighs, pushing them up even further to make more room for his narrow hips.

With slow, careful movements, Dean pushed his hips forward, his cock nudging at Cas’s hole until it finally began to give. Cas’s entrance burned as it resisted the intrusion, but once the head popped past his rim, it eased and as Dean’s cock brushed past his prostate, the pain mingled with hints of pleasure. When Dean’s hips were finally flush with Cas’s ass, he paused to take a deep breath, in through his nose and out through his mouth in an obvious attempt to calm his body.

“Please, Dean,” he whimpered. “Move.”

“Fuck! Hold on. You’re so…”

Cas clenched around him and Dean hissed, but it did the job, and he pulled out just a bit before slowly thrusting back in. They groaned in unison, both overwhelmed at the sensation. He pulled out again, this time a little further, and slid back in, not even bothering to pause before he began a series of shallow thrusts. Cas let out a long keen and let his knees go so he could wrap his legs around Dean’s thrusting hips. His pleasure was growing with every thrust, slowly overtaking the burning stretch of Dean’s thick cock. He could feel his wings twitching from the pleasure, leaking his oils onto the sheets and sending gusts of air that cooled their sweat-slick skin.

Dean hooked his arms under Cas’s legs and hiked them up, using the bend of his knees to his advantage and pulling him into the thrusts. Cas’s hands scrabbled into the bedding, searching for purchase as Dean railed into him. His body offered no resistance, only a slick warm hole for Dean to find pleasure in. His orgasm was building, Cas could feel it, and judging by the way Dean was biting his lip and gasping with each wet thrust, Dean wasn’t far either.

He gave up his attempt to find something to hold on to, and instead grasped Dean’s pistoning hips with one hand, while the other grabbed at his own cock. He began a ruthless pace, his ass clenching even harder in response to the added stimulation. His pleasure climbed higher and higher, and he no longer had control over the sounds coming from him. He didn’t spare a moment to be self-conscious and only continued in his mad race to the finish line. There would be time for slow lovemaking later, right now he wanted to feel Dean come deep in his ass.

“Yeah, babe,” Dean encouraged, his lust blown eyes watching Cas’s fist work quickly over his cock. “I’m almost there.”

Cas groaned in reply. He was so close he felt like he was going to explode, rather than fall over the edge. Suddenly, he was there, with one last thrust of Dean’s cock against his prostate, he was tightening his hold on Dean’s hips and spilling over his chest. Dean cursed above him, a muffled chant of “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” in his ears as his ass spasmed around Dean’s cock. He stilled seconds later, after managing only a few more thrusts, and Cas could feel the twitch of Dean’s cock in his ass as he spilled deep within him.

Cas fell back on the bed, his limbs limp and tingling in the aftermath of his powerful orgasm. He was sweaty and sticky, and he could feel the cum drying on his chest and hand, but he found it impossible to move. Dean collapsed beside him, his softening cock slipping out of him and leaving him far too empty. He made a noise of discontent and summoned every ounce of energy he had to roll over and throw his arm over Dean’s torso.

“Fuck, that was…”

“Fuck is right,” Cas agreed, his voice cracking from misuse. He let out a jaw creaking yawn, and snuggled his face into Dean’s shoulder.

“Don’t go falling asleep on me. It’s only three o’clock. We have a lot to do today.”

“Does that include a round two?”

Dean rolled into Cas so they were chest to chest. “Give me fifteen minutes and I can make that happen.”

“Fifteen minutes? I only need five.”

“Is this what I have to look forward to marrying to an angel?” he captured Cas’s lips in a soft kiss. “This just keeps getting better and better.”

“You should see what I can do with my angel blade…”

Dean burst into laughter. “Is that another way of saying you want to fuck me?”

“You’ll have to find out after we take a nap.”

“A nap sounds good right now.” Dean shifted down the bed so he could tangle his legs with Cas’s and rest his head on the man’s chest. “I can’t believe I got to fuck the Angel of Thursday.”

Cas’s hand froze its petting of Dean’s hair. “Dean.”

“I’m kidding!” Dean snorted in amusement, snuggling even further into Cas’s chest, face smothered between Cas’s pecks as he continued to chuckle. “I’d much rather fuck Castiel, my favorite angel.”

  
Cas shook his head fondly, already falling quickly for this man. “Who knew Dean of Winchester was such a sap?”

“I will pinch you,” he threatened. “No one can know.”

“It’ll be our secret, then.”

**Author's Note:**

> I enjoyed writing this SO MUCH! I hope you liked it as much as I did!


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